Times New Roman
by ingrid-matthews
Summary: In a dark future, Lex Luthor decides on his role model. (Futurefic, Clex slash implied only)


Title: "**Times New Roman**"

By ingrid

~*~

Upon Lionel Luthor's death, an empire was handed to Lex Luthor and he felt disdainful at its paltry size almost immediately. The last few years of waiting for his father's demise (quickly realized once he'd given up on the dull idea of _waiting_ for the old bastard to die) had inspired in Lex a taste for greatness and the city of Metropolis, while great in the context of its surroundings, didn't operate on the scale of Lex's ambitions. Ambitions that stretched past the dimmest star as seen in a country sky; past a dead planet's twinkle, long since extinguished -- further than its lone damned survivor could dream of flying.

Metropolis came nowhere near any of it.

Still, Lex had the beginnings of his Empire. All that was left was how he was to control it as he expanded it, as well as which great ruler he should model himself after -- with some minor improvements in longevity, of course.

Emperors had a habit of dying young and violently, and Lex planned on ruling for a very, very long time -- eternally, if possible. So he tossed away the example of his namesake, not without regret, but with an eye on practicality since Alexander the Great's weakness was love. He allowed himself to die rather than live without it, throwing away his potential without a thought and Lex wasn't about to do anything like that -- ever. 

Or, to be more precise ... never again.

He discarded all modern tyrants immediately; their style left more than a little something to be desired. Mass murder was an art and such crudeness ... no, he'd leave them to their ovens and machetes and squirting vials of gas; he had better ways to achieve such ends when the time came. 

Besides, he was getting far ahead of himself. He still had a role model to pick.

There were always the old Roman emperors, the ones from the Great Age and Lex leaned back in his chair, content in the view from his penthouse. The ceiling-high windows surrounded him and opened his sights over the city, its skyline standing at attention at his feet. 

It would learn to kneel soon enough, but for now ...

Augustus came to mind then, the greatest of all them all, bold warrior and statesman, but Lex had his suspicions about a man who was literally hen-pecked to death by a wife who killed as she kissed, with poison reeking from every pore. Old Livia Augusta could teach any tyrant a lesson or two about ruthlessness, and Lex shook his head.

Women were much too deadly to imitate, better not to even try.

He could be Tiberius, both builder and deviant, shocking the most jaded citizens of an already cynical Empire with his predilections for non-consensual blood sports and naked, painted boys.

Lex had his taste of naked boys once, one naked boy in particular and he wondered why he never bothered to paint Clark as he lay nude and writhing beneath him. Maybe somewhere in Lex's heart of hearts he knew Clark would one day mock him by wearing brighter colors than any palette Lex could ever have mixed.

Maybe they both knew.

There was always Gaius Augustus. Every day a circus, every night a slaughter and Lex's rule would become synonymous with such outrageous decadence and cruelty, his name would live millennia past his death. 

Even if it didn't have quite the ring of "Caligula."

Lex kept debating, looking out over the twinkling skyline. He could be Nero, but unfortunately ...

He wasn't much of a musician.

Superman once professed a liking for Claudius in some interview or another. Talked about the sickly old stutterer's yen for justice, his dedicated overseeing of the courts and reforms to the corruption that was once the failing legal system of Rome. 

The Emperor-Judge, and maybe that's how Superman saw himself, fair and untroubled by the dark needs of man versus the laws of single-minded creatures who twisted steel and flew untroubled through the skies, anywhere he pleased. Claudius, a cripple, would have liked that -- maybe it was the old Emperor's revenge on those who defied the better part of his soul -- inspiring an invincible creature to nobility versus his true place in the order of a New Empire -- as the conqueror of all he surveyed.

Lex could have worked with someone like that. But now ...

Oh, for a feather dipped in liquid Kryptonite to shove down the alien's throat, so Superman could imitate his hero's life to its bitter end, Lex thought, his lips tightening into a painfully thin line. 

Once upon a time, Lex had asked Clark the very question he asked himself now -- whom it was he should model himself after. It took a while to get an answer but when Clark finally looked up from between Lex's legs, his lips still wet, his eyes warm and satisfied, he'd responded:

"Just be yourself, Lex. Always ... be yourself."

As much as Lex was loathe to admit it, that was good advice. Lex Luthor was unique-- unmatched, even -- in his brilliance, his desires and his cruelty. He wouldn't poison his lovers; he'd poison entire cities. He wouldn't fiddle while Metropolis burned to the ground; no, he was going to smile while the Earth itself melted under acid and ash.

He would obtain a singular immortality where the only one remembering his name would be himself. He'd be the beginning and the end, the Alpha and the Omega and his reign would have no conclusion, because he'd be the last ruler the world would ever know and the rest ... eternally forgotten by the countless dead.

Yes, that was it and the thought made him slightly breathless with anticipation. There was no need to imitate anyone.

Lex Luthor would simply be himself.

Let the old tyrants of history tremble in their tombs.

And let the Emperor-Judge of Krypton try and stop him. The poisons were there, Lex thought, smiling senselessly. The tools were at hand, even in his kisses if need be and death would flow from every pore.

~*~

fin


End file.
